Water for Elephants

He turns expectantly toward Marlena.

“I don’t know,” she says crossly.

“We scored a bull!” Uncle Al shouts, spreading his arms wide in jubilation. His cane smacks a groveler, who leaps backward.

August’s face freezes. “What?”

“A bull! An elephant!”

“You have an elephant?”

“No, August—you have an elephant. Her name is Rosie, she’s fifty-three, and she’s perfectly brilliant. The best bull they had. I can’t wait to see the act you come up with—” He closes his eyes, the better to summon up an image. His fingers wriggle in front of his face. He smiles in closed-eyed ecstasy. “I’m thinking it involves Marlena. She can ride her during the parade and Grand Spec, and then you can follow with a feature act in the center ring. Oh, here!” He turns around and snaps his fingers. “Where is it? Come on, come on, you idiots!”

A bottle of champagne appears. He presents it for Marlena’s inspection with a deep bow. Then he unwinds the wire top and pops the cork.

Fluted glasses appear from somewhere behind him and are set up on Marlena’s vanity.

Uncle Al pours a small amount into each and passes one to Marlena, August, and me.

He lifts the final one high. His eyes mist over. He sighs deeply and clasps a hand to his breast.

“It is my great pleasure to celebrate this momentous occasion with you—my dearest friends in the world.” He rocks forward on his spatted feet and squeezes out a real tear. It rolls over his fat cheek. “Not only do we have a veterinarian—and a Cornell-educated one at that—we have a bull. A bull!” He sniffs with happiness and pauses, overcome. “I have waited for this day for years. And this is just the beginning, my friends. We are in the big leagues now. A show to be reckoned with.”

There is scattered clapping from behind him. Marlena balances her glass on her knee. August holds his stiffly in front of him. Except for grasping the glass, he hasn’t moved a muscle.

Uncle Al thrusts his champagne into the air. “To the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth!” he shouts.

“Benzini Brothers! Benzini Brothers!” cry voices from behind him. Marlena and August are silent.

Al drains his glass and tosses it to the nearest member of his entourage, who drops it into a jacket pocket and follows Al from the tent. The flap closes, and once again it’s just the three of us.

There is a moment of utter stillness. Then August’s head jerks, as though he’s coming to.

“I guess we’d better go see this rubber mule,” he says, draining his glass in a single gulp. “Jacob, you can see to those damned animals now. You happy?”

I look at him, wide-eyed. Then I also drain my glass. From the corner of my eye, I see Marlena do the same.

THE FOX BROTHERS menagerie is now swarming with Benzini Brothers men. They run back and forth, filling troughs, tossing hay, and hauling away dung. Some sections of sidewall have been raised, creating a cross-breeze. I scan the tent as we enter, looking for animals in distress. Fortunately, they all look very much alive.

The elephant looms against the far sidewall, an enormous beast the color of storm clouds.

We push through the workmen and stop in front of her. She is gargantuan—at least ten feet tall at the shoulder. Her skin is mottled and cracked like a scorched riverbed from the tip of her trunk all the way down to her wide feet. Only her ears are smooth. She peers out at us with eerily human eyes. They’re amber, set deep in her head, and fringed with outrageously long lashes.

“Good God,” says August.

Her trunk reaches out to us, moving like an independent creature. It waves in front of August, then Marlena, and finally, me. At the end of it, a fingerlike protrusion wiggles and grasps. The nostrils open and close, snuffing and blowing, and then the trunk retreats. It swings in front of her like a pendulum, an enormous and muscled worm. Its finger grasps stray pieces of hay from the ground and then drops them again. I watch the swaying trunk and wish it would come back. I hold my hand out in offering, but it doesn’t return.

August stares in consternation, and Marlena simply stares. I don’t know what to think. I’ve never encountered an animal this large. She rises almost four feet above my head.

“You the bull man?” says a man approaching from the right. His shirt is filthy and untucked, puffing out from behind his suspenders.

“I am the equestrian director and superintendent of animals,” replies August, drawing himself up to full height.

“Where’s your bull man?” says the man, squirting a wad of tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth.

The elephant reaches out with her trunk and taps him on the shoulder. He whacks her and steps out of reach. The elephant opens her shovel-shaped mouth in what can only be described as a smile and starts to sway, keeping time with the movement of her trunk.

“Why do you want to know?” asks August.

“Just want a word with him, is all.”

“Why?”

“To let him know what he’s in for,” says the man.

“How do you mean?”

“Show me your bull man, and I’ll tell you.”

August grabs my arm and swings me forward. “Him. This is my bull man. So what are we in for?”

The man looks at me, pushes his wad of tobacco deep in his cheek, and continues to address August.

“This here’s the stupidest goddamned animal on the face of the earth.”

August looks stunned. “I thought she was supposed to be the best bull. Al said she was the best bull.”

The man snorts and squirts a stream of brown saliva toward the great beast. “If she was the best bull, why was she the only one left? You think you’re the first show to turn up picking the bones? You didn’t even get here for three days. Well, good luck on ya.” He turns to leave.

“Wait,” August says quickly. “Tell me more. Is she a rogue?”

“Naw, just dumb as a bag of hammers.”

“Where did she come from?”

“An elephant tramp—some dirty Polack who dropped dead in Libertyville. City gave her up for a song. Wasn’t no bargain though, ’cuz she ain’t done a damned thing since but eat.”

August stares at him, pale. “You mean she wasn’t even with a circus?”

The man steps over the rope and disappears behind the elephant. He returns with a wooden rod about three feet long with a four-inch metal pick coming off the end.

“Here’s your bull hook. You’re gonna need it. Good luck on ya. As for me, if I never see another bull as long as I live it’ll be too soon.” He spits again and walks away.

August and Marlena stare after him. I look back just in time to see the elephant pull her trunk from the trough. She lifts it, aims, and blasts the man with such force his hat sails off his head on a stream of water.

He stops, his hair and clothes dripping. He is still for a moment. Then he wipes his face, leans over to retrieve his hat, bows to the astonished audience of menagerie workers, and continues on his way.

COURTESY OF TIMOTHY TEGGE, TEGGE CIRCUS ARCHIVES, BARABOO, WISCONSIN

Ten

August huffs and puffs and turns so red he’s actually closer to purple. Then he marches off, presumably to have it out with Uncle Al.

Marlena and I glance at each other. By unspoken agreement, neither of us follows.

One by one the menagerie men leave. The animals, finally fed and watered, settle in for the night. At the end of a desperate day is peace.

Marlena and I are alone, holding various bits of foodstuff toward Rosie’s inquisitive trunk. When its strange rubbery finger grabs a wisp of hay from my fingers, Marlena squeals with laughter. Rosie tosses her head and opens her mouth in a smile.